


Attention

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Madness, Manga Spoilers, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'It’s a damn coffin,' Giriko growls. 'That’s creepy, kid, maybe you don’t realize cause you spent so damn long around it but death ain’t a normal thing to idolize.'" Justin argues the merits of his mode of transportation and Giriko is eventually persuaded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attention

“You have to admit it’s creepy.”

Giriko’s been arguing his point for hours, or at least what feels like hours. That might be the effect of the booze gently humming through his body, though, or just the lateness of the hour; it’s hard to tell, for sure, especially when the blond across the table from him is watching him with the faint bemused smile he sometimes turns on the chainsaw. It’s not all that hard for Giriko to obtain Justin’s attention -- the priest is usually hovering around him, watches him more than he watches even Noah, their ostensible leader -- but it’s hard to hold it, hard to hold the blond to anything that Giriko’s seen. Even when they’re fucking over Giriko’s bed or the chainsaw’s got Justin pinned to a wall while he jerks him off, the blond’s gaze will go out-of-focus every few minutes, like he’s seeing something behind Giriko’s head or maybe through the chainsaw. It’s eerie, a little unsettling and a lot irritating, so the fact that Justin’s been alert and focused on the topic at hand for this long is worth remarking.

He’s staring at Giriko, now, not blinking quite as much as he ought to and smiling faintly, as if at some joke the chainsaw doesn’t see. “I don’t know how you’re defining ‘creepy’ but it must be something I’m not familiar with. Or maybe you have a phobia that’s affecting your judgment? My means of transportation is perfectly reasonable.”

“It’s a damn  _coffin_ ,” Giriko growls, but he’s grinning around the protest without realizing it. “That’s  _creepy_ , kid, maybe you don’t realize cause you spent so damn long around it but death ain’t a normal thing to idolize.”

“It’s definitely a phobia,” Justin says, as if he’s settled the matter, leaning back in his chair.

“How the fuck do you figure?” Giriko demands, leaning forward to make up for Justin’s retreat.

Justin waves a dismissive hand. “You’ve been alive for centuries, Giriko, obviously there must be some kind of phobia there keeping you from crossing over.”

“I don’t want to  _die_ ,” Giriko spits. “That’s  _perfectly_  normal. You telling me you looking forward to it? Cause I can fix that little life problem, if that’s the issue.”

“I’m not looking forward to death,” Justin says evenly. “But I don’t run from it either. It will come when it comes.”

“You didn’t leave the goddamn Academy cause you were ready for death to come for you,” Giriko points out. “You were  _afraid_ , everyone’s afraid of something.”

Justin draws back farther in his chair, shifts his weight so he’s actively retreating instead of just relaxing, and a shadow passes over his face. “I’m not afraid of death, at least.”

Giriko blinks, takes in the angle of Justin’s shoulders, the leery edge to his expression, and when he speaks again his voice is audibly softer. “What is it, then?”

Justin shoves to his feet, clears his throat. “You should come out with me, to the car. I’ll show you what I mean, it’s not that bad.”

Giriko’s not about to push the subject, if Justin doesn’t want to talk about it so bad. He gets to his feet himself, stretches and sighs noisily but follows the blond down the hallway, in spite of the low grumble he maintains more out of habit than real irritation.

It’s not until they’re at the door to go outside that Justin pauses, hand on the handle and not turning around.

“Solitude,” he says, clear and careful, voice totally absent any emotion. “I’m afraid of being alone.”

Giriko’s spine tingles with the admission. His eyes catch on the curl of blond hair against Justin’s collar, the perfectly straight stiffness of his spine under his robes, and some very distant part of him, absent the violent impulses and the constant seething rage, comments that Justin’s just a kid, after all, that it’s not even an insult to call him that when he’s not even eighteen yet for all he acts like he has the wisdom of Giriko’s years and then some. Giriko reaches out to touch Justin’s shoulders, just between his shoulderblades; it’s a push more than a caress, but it’s the best he’s got to offer. From the way the blond leans back before he pulls the door open, the feel of his shoulders relaxing under Giriko’s touch, it’s enough, at least.

They are both silent for a moment as they step out into the monochrome shadows of the moonlight; then Giriko drops his hand, clears his throat, and drags them both back to normal, or close enough, by changing the topic with more speed than grace.

“Not creepy, huh? Coming out to see the damn thing in the dead of night ain’t gonna help, you know.”

“You don’t think so?” Justin says carefully, glancing back at Giriko. Giriko recognizes that expression, the angle of that grin and the glint of the blond’s teeth. That’s flirtation, there, and he’s not entirely sure what Justin has in mind but he has a pretty good idea. “I think I can persuade you otherwise.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Giriko shoots back, and Justin laughs and turns back to watch the shadowed path in front of him. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to keep his footing, but he is maintaining a graceful glide over the obstructions that keep catching Giriko’s toe or heel so the chainsaw goes stumbling forward or barks a reflexive curse. By the time they actually make it to the clearing where Justin’s damn car is parked, Giriko is ready to turn right back around and stomp his way back to the main building, forest floor be damned.

“Yeah, see, creepy,” he growls, turning almost as soon as the stupid thing is in sight. “I’m going back, you can have as much damn quality time with the thing as you want.”

“You said I could try,” Justin says, his voice resonant with more emotion than Giriko usually hears from him. It’s enough to make him hesitate, the thought of the walk back is enough to make him stall, and then there’s the sound of cloth rustling behind him, and that’s enough to get him to turn back around, slowly, just in case he’s hearing things again.

It wouldn’t be the first time he hallucinated something, but if his ears are playing tricks on him his eyes are too, and that’s a solid enough figment of Madness that he’s willing to engage with it. Justin is facing away, towards the coffin shape attached to the back of his makeshift car, and as Giriko watches he drops the robes he’s pulled off to the ground and starts  to move in towards the car. He looks like he’s entirely ignoring the other weapon; Giriko would believe the act, too, if it weren’t for the tiny motion of Justin glancing back at him, the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks in the moonlight. Without the outer layer of his clothing his dark pants and pale undershirt cling to him, outline his lean arms and narrow shoulders, and the silvery light of the moon halos off his skin until he looks like he might be glowing.

“That ain’t fair,” Giriko says without moving, and Justin is  _definitely_  paying attention to him because the priest chuckles as he keeps moving in until he can reach the side of the car itself and push the lid of the trailer open.

“Not  _fair_?” he asks without turning. He shifts his feet, slides a foot free of his boot and swings his leg around into the back of the car. When he pivots around to sit in the back his chin is dipped down, his eyes cast in shadow until Giriko can’t see the pale color for the darkness covering the blond’s face. He can see the smile, though, the tension pulling at the other’s mouth as he tugs his other shoe free and lets it drop. “I wasn’t aware justice was high on your list of priorities,  _Giriko_.”

Giriko’s coming forward -- he’s protesting, not refusing _\--_ and Justin tips his face up to catch the light for just a moment before he slides away and out of sight. By the tip Giriko is close enough to actually see Justin’s let his limbs go limp, is staring up at the chainsaw with an expression so blank that for a moment he really does look like he might be dead. Giriko is reminded sharply and vividly of fairy tales he read, or heard, or wrote centuries and centuries ago, about eternal sleep like death, and he doesn’t  _say_  anything but for just a minute he lets himself appreciate the angular fall of Justin’s limbs, the pristine unconscious beauty of his eternally youthful face.

Then Justin smiles, slow and careful, and the first spell shatters but a second, more mundane one, spills heat into Giriko’s veins and a grin across his mouth.

“You’re kinda an exhibitionist, ain’t you?” he asks, coming up to climb into the back of the car so he can cast Justin in the shade of his body.

Justin huffs. “Hardly. There’s no one around, right? I’m just interested in winning the argument.”

“Using any means necessary?” Giriko asks, and when he reaches to shove the hem of Justin’s shirt up an inch the blond doesn’t protest.

“I like winning,” is all he says, holding Giriko’s gaze, and the chainsaw laughs.

“Yeah, I see that.” He drops his weight back on a knee between Justin’s spread legs, and when he tips himself sideways Justin moves in sync in the other direction, comes up so he’s kneeling over the chainsaw instead of the other way around. “So if I said I wasn’t convinced?”

Justin heaves a melodramatic sigh. “I guess I’d have to improve my arguments.” He tugs at the edge of Giriko’s coat, traces the soft fringe down to the front of the chainsaw’s jeans. The older man is rapidly becoming interested, if not entirely there yet, and when Justin presses the palm of his hand down against the denim the chainsaw bucks up into the pressure. That gets him a grin from the priest, a not-so-gentle shove of the blond’s hand against him before Justin rocks back on his heels and pulls away so he can reach for the front of his own pants.

Giriko can see where this is going, and after all, he’s here to be convinced, so he leans back against the back of the trailer and reaches out to drape his arms over the edge. He could match Justin’s motions but there’s something to be said for just watching the distant focus on Justin’s face as he gets his jeans open, stands so he can slide them free of his legs and drop them over Giriko’s feet. Then he’s back, coming up on hands and knees to crawl up over the chainsaw’s body, and Giriko is  _definitely_  interested now, between watching Justin strip and the view of pale limbs he’s getting between the short sleeves of the blond’s undershirt and the thin fabric of his boxers. He lifts an arm as the other comes in closer, wraps his arm around so he can shove up the edge of the priest’s shirt and press his fingers in hard against Justin’s spine. Justin arches in, takes a whimpering inhale that Giriko suspects is at least slightly overstated. It doesn’t really matter. Justin’s as interested as Giriko, he’s wearing far too little to pretend otherwise, and when Giriko pulls the front of his boxers open and curls his hand around the blond’s cock the shaking laugh he gets is entirely unfeigned.

He tips his head up, leans back so he’s relaxed in counterpoint to the tension he’s drawing under Justin body as he starts to stroke over the blond’s length. The priest’s head is tipped down into shadow again, his eyes shut so Giriko can just make out the smudging shadow of his lashes against his cheeks, and when he reaches out his hand hits Giriko’s shoulder so the chainsaw can feel the steadying force in the contact.

“Is this your plan?” Giriko asks without looking away from Justin’s face. “Cause I gotta admit, I’m willing to let you try but I’m not sure you jerking me off in the back of your creepy car is gonna change my mind.”

Justin laughs again, shakes his head and lifts his face up to the moonlight, opens his eyes to the sky and speaks with his throat drawn tight by the angle of his head. “Not quite.”

“Quite?” Giriko digs his fingernails into Justin’s spine, pulls him in closer and sits up enough to press his mouth against the thin fabric of the blond’s shirt. The cloth goes damp immediately, so when the chainsaw shifts he can feel the way the moisture makes the clothing cling to Justin’s skin. “What  _exactly_  did you have in mind, then?”

“There’s lube in the pocket of my jeans,” Justin says to the sky. “You prefer me fucking myself on you to blowjobs, even, don’t you?”

“ _You_  prefer fucking yourself on my cock,” Giriko insists, but Justin’s  _right_ , and the calm delivery of the sentiment is enough of a problem that the chainsaw grimaces and shifts against the pressure of his jeans, and that gives him away.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Justin says, but he’s reaching down to press the palm of his hand against Giriko’s cock so the chainsaw doesn’t offer a real protest, just growls, “ _Which_  pocket?” as he bucks up against the blond’s touch.

He’s hoping the priest will just tell him, but of course the opportunity to tease is too good for Justin to pass up. There’s a faint laugh and then the pressure is gone, Justin’s pulling free and turning back to reach for his discarded clothing as Giriko hisses in frustration and moves to unzip his jeans. He doesn’t even bother to get them more than undone; that’s enough to shove his boxers out of the way, and by the time Justin turns back around Giriko’s got his fingers tight around himself and is stroking away the desperate edge of want from under his skin. Justin huffs a sigh, hooks his fingers over his boxers to push them off rather than reaching out to replace Giriko’s fingers with his own, or maybe his mouth, as the chainsaw half-hoped he would.

“One would think with eight hundred years you would have learned some patience,” Justin observes as he opens the bottle and slicks his fingers.

“ _One_  would be fuckin’ wrong,” Giriko says. Justin’s face in the moonlight is sapping some of the fire from his words; they come out more as a commentary than an attack, and Justin can certainly hear the difference. The blond tips his chin down, smiles slow and dark at Giriko as he arches his back and reaches around behind himself.

“Are you coming around?” he asks, timing the question so the words are coming out perfectly level in spite of the motion of his arm that says he’s sliding his fingers into himself. “To my point of view on the car.”

“Not yet,” Giriko grates with more stubbornness than honesty. Giriko can see how sharply the blond’s spine is curved, the way his body is drawn tight with the awkward angle as he works himself open. “You want some help with that?”

Justin glances down at him, grins so fast and so bright that for a moment he looks his age. “You’re always too rough, Giriko.”

“And you always like it,” Giriko points out. Justin hesitates, tips his head, shifts one shoulder in a shrug that might be neutrality and might be agreement. Giriko  _knows_  he’s being taunted -- it’s generally a safe bet, with Justin -- but he can’t help the flare of irritation under his skin, the grab he makes for the blond’s hips as he lets his hold on himself go.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, bumping his head hard against Justin’s chest. “Stop playing around, you little shit, are you going to ride me or are you just gonna be a tease?”

“I don’t see why I have to choose,” Justin points out, but he’s sliding his fingers free and reaching down to grip Giriko’s cock with slippery fingers. “You lack imagination for these kinds of things.”

“I just keep my mind on the  _goal_.” Giriko jerks Justin forward to emphasize, pulling hard enough that Justin abandons his grip to throw out a hand and catch himself on Giriko’s shoulder.

“You miss out on the anticipation, though,” he sighs, as if Giriko is a wayward soul accidentally slipping down the path to hell and not a deliberate sinner well beyond any hope of salvation. “There’s a moment --” he shifts his weight, leans over his knees, comes down lower so Giriko’s cock bumps against him for a moment. “-- When everything is  _about_  to happen but hasn’t yet.” He wiggles slightly, shifts himself just barely to the left, and Giriko can  _feel_  himself fit into place although Justin’s still hovering over him. “It’s almost better than the event.”

Giriko looks up. Justin is staring out into the darkness of the forest, his eyes gone dreamy and out-of-focus like they sometimes do. His hands on Giriko’s shoulders are gentle, absent as if he’s not really present, as if he’s forgetten who and where he is.

“You’re insane,” Giriko growls, and jerks hard on Justin’s hips to pull him down bodily onto the chainsaw’s length. The blond’s eyes come back into focus, his hands tighten into fists, and when he groans and curls in against the chainsaw’s body Giriko laughs more from the pleasure of his reaction than even the sensation around his cock.

“Don’t forget about me,” Giriko hisses, leaning in close so his teeth brush against Justin’s ear when he talks. “I’ll make sure you remember if I have to.”

“I thought I was supposed to be convincing you,” Justin says without lifting his head from the chainsaw’s shoulder. The hand making a fist in Giriko’s shirt relaxes as the blond catches a breath; then he straightens, come back upright so Giriko can feel the shift of the priest’s body around him even before Justin has really moved at all.

“You’re too rough,” the blond chastises, but he’s moving to bring himself up on the chainsaw’s length in spite of his complaint, and the usual controlled amusement on his features has cracked into softer sincerity. His eyes are in focus, too, locked on Giriko’s face just like Giriko  _wants_  them to be, and the chainsaw doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches out to wrap his fingers hard around the blond’s length.

“ _Really_.” He jerks, hard and fast, and Justin’s back curves in that arch again, the blond hisses with halfhearted protest that doesn’t undermine the way his cock twitches in Giriko’s hold. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe anything,” Justin manages. He’s smiling in spite of his words, the expression on his face making them very nearly tender, and when Giriko strokes over him again his eyelids flutter in what looks nothing like protest anymore.

“Nope,” Giriko agrees. He pushes at Justin’s hip, urging the priest to move, and after a moment Justin does, takes the hint and starts to find a rhythm as he moves himself on the other man. “‘S better that way. You believe in too damn much.”

“Mm. Maybe,” Justin almost-agrees. His breathing is coming faster, his voice starting to quiver as he speaks. Giriko tightens his grip, strokes fast and out-of-time, and is rewarded with the blond losing his breath entirely in a gasp before he recovers what little composure he has left. “Maybe we balance each other.”

“Don’t group me with you,” Giriko hisses, but his hold on Justin’s hip slides around to his back, his fingers settle in the curve of the blond’s spine. “I -- I ain’t nothing like you.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Justin says. He’s talking fast, blurting words between the sharp inhales he’s taking as he shifts his knee and increases the pace of his motion. Giriko’s the one who has to focus on breathing for a moment, and while he’s tensing his fingers against Justin’s back the blond keeps talking. “I said we balance each other, that has nothing to do with similarities.”

“Fuck,” Giriko says, and when he pulls in Justin loses his balance and half-falls against the older man’s chest. “Just fucking stop  _talking_  for five seconds and let me jerk you off.”

Justin laughs, the sound so sincere Giriko almost doesn’t hear the hysteria under it, but then he presses his forehead into the chainsaw’s shoulder, goes quiet except for the gasp of air, and if it’s not five seconds it isn’t long before Giriko feels him draw tense in anticipation a moment before the blond sighs and shudders and comes over the chainsaw’s fingers.

Giriko doesn’t bother with trying to be patient. Justin is still leaning in against him, breathing hard into his shirt, when he lets the blond go and sets his hands steady on the other’s hips to keep him in place while Giriko thrusts up into him. He can’t get much movement with Justin’s weight on top of him but he can get enough, particularly when Justin laughs into his shoulder and turns his head so he can lick against the chainsaw’s neck. Giriko groans at the contact, drags Justin down hard onto him, and then reality is washed warm and white for a moment in the wave of pleasure that spills through him.

Neither of them move for a moment. In the aftershocks of pleasure Giriko is content to drop heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion against the back of the trailer, turn his head to let Justin keep kissing at the edge of his collar. The priest seems just as satisfied; at least, he’s not making any effort to move, just working his way up Giriko’s neck to his ear until he can bite at the piercings set into the chainsaw’s skin.

“Giriko,” he finally says, his voice slow and soft.

“Yeah?” Even the usual grate of Giriko’s voice is smoothed for the moment, pulled down to a low rumble by the peace of the moment.

“It’s not creepy.”

Giriko opens his eyes, stares blankly at the forest for a moment. Then he laughs, sharp and so loud the sound echoes off the trees around them.

“It is too,” he says, but his hand lingering at Justin’s hip comes around to his spine and pulls until the priest falls properly against Giriko’s chest. “But that’s okay, I don’t mind a little creepy.”

He can feel Justin’s smile against his skin.


End file.
